How much of it had been fueled by the adrenaline of having found the Monet painting? Drew could hardly believe that his hunch had been correct, had paid off to the extent that they’d recovered the artwork and it was right here in this house. Elliot had deserved to get his sub itch scratched after that. No, Drew couldn’t pretend the scene had been him indulging Elliot in thanks. Drew didn’t even want to pretend, not when it had been as much about him as it had about Elliot.

  Speaking—or thinking—of the man, he should prepare him some breakfast. Rifling through cupboards showed him a lack of suitable food but netted him a paper bag from a local bakery, neatly smoothed out for reuse. A quick search on his phone told him the address was a block or so away. He could be back before Elliot woke.

  Meeting the neighborhood cat—the huge fluffy ginger beast was too grand to be called a street cat—both on his way there and on his return journey delayed him, but he was back, and in the kitchen, when Elliot shuffled in. Listening to the local news on the radio, Drew didn’t hear him until his slippers slapped on the tiles.

  “Honey oat spelt muffin?” Drew held out the plate. The staff in the bakery had all chorused that out when he’d asked if anyone knew Elliot and, if so, what he usually bought. “Or bacon Cheddar scone? Which I might have exclaimed ‘bloody hell!’ on seeing and bought immediately. Sorry, I used the back door key and replaced it on the hook.” He jerked his chin toward it.

  The tea kettle whistled—why didn’t people have electric ones?—and he poured the boiling water into the pot.

  “I wasn’t expecting…” Elliot had wire-framed glasses on his sleepy face.

  Drew shrugged. “It’s only breakfast. I owe you much more than this. It’s—” Something in the news report caught his attention and he snatched up the radio. “What—?”

  “The man was found dead, attacked in his own apartment, which was ransacked. It’s not known what was stolen, or whether this was gang related, but José Luis Sanchez had a long criminal history…”

  “The seller,” Elliot gasped, pointing at the radio.

  Shit. And shittier—would the guy have had Elliot’s phone number, for the police to trace? No, Drew doubted it. Sanchez was the sort to cover his and his clients’ tracks as he went. Drew wouldn’t let any harm come to Elliot, even though Drew wasn’t the only one on the trail of the paintings from the art fair. Kislyak. Bastard has tentacles everywhere.

  If only Drew were able to use his department’s resources and contacts, but he was on his own here. More like out on a limb. Yet Elliot had a contact in the local PD. Was there a possibility of utilizing that? Drew would have to be very crafty about it.

  An unfamiliar buzzing had Drew freezing, until he worked out it must be Elliot’s cell phone, left on a kitchen counter. Elliot seemed just as startled by the sound too. “It’s new,” he muttered, picking it up and poking at the buttons. “Hello? Oh, hello…” He pointed at the phone, his eyes wide, trying to signal.

  Drew took the device and put it on speaker. “You know this guy?” he mouthed.

  Elliot shrug-nodded. “Yes, I’m interested, as I said. I don’t suppose you could bring it to my store?” he asked the caller.

  Whoever the man was, he laughed at that. “Unlikely. Meet you at the Pearl seats, out in the open, to have a little talk, huh? Lunchtime?” He rang off.

  Drew eyed Elliot. “I get the feeling that’s not a respectable fellow art and antiques dealer.”

  Elliot shook his head. “His name’s Silver and he’s a fence.”

  The man was full of surprises. “You know some interesting people.”

  “I called around, trying to get a lead. Wasn’t that right?” Elliot’s forehead creased.

  “I’d say it was exactly right,” Drew replied. He glanced at the kitchen clock. “Shouldn’t you be at work by now? And didn’t you want to stop by the bank, to drop a little something off at your safe deposit box?”

  He packed their breakfast to repurpose as lunch while Elliot, exclaiming in horror, hurled himself up the stairs to shower and dress.

  * * * *

  He was apologizing to Aldric again an hour later, for all Elliot was the boss. This time wasn’t for his unprecedented late arrival with no warning, which had left Aldric worried and dealing with phone calls from the commitments Elliot had blown off. It was for having to slip out almost as soon as he’d gotten there.

  “It’s been fine,” Aldric repeated. “Jonas will be in soon, if we get a rush and I can’t handle things.”

  Is there a rush hour in the antiques trade? Drew had no idea. He caught a puzzled, worried look Aldric didn’t disguise well enough when he glanced at him and guessed Aldric was thinking about his boss’s tardiness—thinking that it was Drew’s fault. The young employee didn’t seem to know what to do about it either, his expression switching between happiness that his boss was apparently spending time with someone and picking up on Elliot’s guilt and embarrassment at his behavior.

  There was nothing Drew could do about it, except try to allay Aldric’s suspicions. “My fault,” he told the employee. “We lost track of time this morning, and now Elliot’s taking me on a walking tour of the area and along the embankment. Oh, you don’t call it that here, do you?”

  “The Riverwalk.” Aldric nodded. “It’s pretty.”

  “We’re going to find a good spot for lunch.” Drew lifted the canvas satchel he had on one shoulder as proof. Nothing to see here. Just sightseeing and snacks. Not a meeting with a fence who’s handling extremely hot stolen goods. “All set?” he asked Elliot, once again hating that he was involved to this extent.

  Elliot had rushed into his office, murmuring about the half-dozen things he had to see to, and as soon as he’d emerged, gotten caught up attending to a couple who were exclaiming over the bedspread—or so it looked like to Drew—in the window display. Aldric headed to them, joining in and making it clear he could manage. Eventually the string of bells on the shop’s door tinkled out Elliot’s—reluctant—departure.

  “You don’t have to keep looking back over your shoulder at the store,” Drew said, a little amused. “I know you wouldn’t have employed staff who couldn’t do their jobs, and do them damn well.”

  “Oh, thank you.” Elliot’s cheeks pinkened, just a little, and the lip-lick that accompanied his words had Drew’s dick stirring, causing him to shift as he walked.

  “I’m sorry about all this,” he said, and selfishly feeling the thing he was most sorry about right now was that this wasn’t a real stroll through this bustling square and down to the waterfront. He wished he was a real tourist in this vibrant city who’d crossed paths with this man, one who seemed the perfect sub for him, and was enjoying a holiday affair with him. That he’d mentally consigned the case he was here to work on to the back burner staggered him.

  “I said I’d help,” Elliot replied. He shot Drew a glance out of the corners of his eyes. “And this is…different.”

  “Different as in out of your routine? Or a complete novelty in the life of an art and antiques trader?” Drew asked.

  “As in I like spending time with you.” It came out in a rush, as though he’d had to take a deep breath to say it and his honesty humbled Drew.

  “I’m really attracted to you too, in case you hadn’t picked up on it,” he assured Elliot. Elliot admitting to his feelings for Drew was giving Drew a hard-on, something that wasn’t convenient when he had to focus. Especially now, with him and Elliot heading down to the walkway that followed the bank of the river. The number of people strolling, and the buzz of the outdoor cafés took him aback.

  “Is it livelier than the banks of the Thames?” Elliot asked, watching him react.

  “More colorful. I associate one side of the Thames embankment with people hurrying along it to get to work, like I do, and the other’s more for tourists. This is a different atmosphere. It seems more for the city to enjoy? It must be fun at night.” He pulled his mind from that and back to work. “Let’s think how to do this…”

  They kept it simple, walking to the open-air seats that Drew guessed also served as an amphitheater, the way the semicircular rows of stone blocks rose from the riverbank as if designed for spectators to watch whatever was on the wooden platform set up over the water. Several people, either individuals or couples or small groups, were sitting chatting on the widely spaced rows, mainly near where trees provided natural shade over the seating.

  “You’re sure about this?” Drew asked again. Christ, if his bosses knew he was involving a civilian like this. If Claire knew! His partner detective sergeant would have a few choice things to say about this. And a few more. Then more still. But it would be nothing Drew wasn’t already saying to himself.

  With a short nod, Elliot chose the third row up and sat in the middle. Drew selected the one behind him, calculating the width of the gap between each half-moon-shaped row of seating and the next. How long would it take him to spring down to the one below and Elliot? Keeping a sharp eye on him, he was nevertheless aware of two guys making their way along to where he sat, one from the left and one from the right, to sit either side of him.

  “You’re with him?” one asked, jerking his head to the stone seats below—and Elliot.

  Drew nodded. There was no point denying it. The men, lookouts and guards, had no doubt seen him and Elliot arrive.

  “Right. We’re with him,” the guy added.

  Him was the man now sitting next to Elliot. Drew had thought the fence’s name was Silva, a Hispanic surname, but now guessed it was Silver, his nickname—when he turned his head, sunlight glinted off the mirrored sunglasses he wore. They were oversized, much bigger than a standard military or aviator-style pair.

  “I’m going to take my binoculars from my pocket,” Drew warned the birddogs, easing the folding compact device free. He got them to his eyes in time to see Silver laying out Polaroid photos on the bench. Each one showed the same picture of a ship. Could it be the Buttersworth he was seeking? Elliot took out his cell phone—Drew had sent him the photos he’d taken in Kislyak’s penthouse, so all he had to do was make a comparison, if he couldn’t recall the paintings he’d seen on the stall at the fair, but he was hesitating.

  Shit. This was taking too long. “I’m going there.” Drew stood, leaving them no choice, and was at the seat before they could stop him.

  The fence seemed unperturbed by the addition of one extra or even by his men following on the newcomer’s heels. “More interest in this item?” he asked.

  “May I?” Drew picked up a photograph. Yes! He had the artworks he sought memorized, and this was one!

  “I couldn’t find the pictures you sent me on my damn phone!” Elliot muttered.

  “It’s okay. What can you tell me about the provenance of this item?” Drew asked, standing protectively behind Elliot.

  Silver lowered his glasses a fraction and studied him. He pushed them back in place. “It’s stolen. One of the entry-level gang that did the smash and grab at the antiques fair wants me to offload it for them.”

  His frankness staggered Drew, who was so glad he was recording this meeting, and that Texas was a one-party state when it came to these matters. Could he get Silver to talk, tell him who committed the robbery? Drew doubted it. “I see.”

  “Do you? Good. So that’ll be fifty,” Silver said.

  “Oh, I have that,” Elliot started to reply.

  “Thousand,” Silver finished.

  “What?” Elliot burst out.

  Silver shrugged. “Interest raises the price.” His tone suggested Elliot, as a storekeeper, should know that.

  “But I don’t have that kind of cash lying around,” Elliot protested.

  “Not my problem.” Silver stood. “You were the first to ask me about those goods, so you get first shot. Bean?”

  One of the guys tossed a cell phone to Drew.

  “I’m in that. It’s a burner, so ditch it after you call me to tell me you got the money. You got until midnight. After that, well, none of your business what happens to the painting after that, is it?”

  He stepped away, a guard on either side of him. “Midnight,” he called over one shoulder and was gone.

  Midnight? Collapsing onto the stone bench beside Elliot, Drew had one thought in his head.

  How the hell am I going to get fifty thousand dollars in a few hours?

  Chapter Fourteen

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t convince him to give us more time.” Elliot swallowed. He hated to see Drew looking so withdrawn.

  Drew stirred. “You have nothing to be sorry about. For what it’s worth, you’re better at this than some cops I’ve worked with.” He frowned. “Us more time? This is my problem. My case.”

  “For which you still need me…unless you have that amount of money here in the States with you?”

  “Not exactly,” Drew replied, as Elliot had expected. Fine, Drew definitely did still need him, especially if Elliot came up with some way to get that cash. He was a businessman, a trader—he should be able to think up a way! Damn Silver— Silver…

  “Silver. Sale,” he murmured. “Do you remember white sales, Drew? The original ones, I mean, selling white bedlinen in January, when few people would buy those items, but did when it was steeply discounted? So what if we had not a white but a silver sale? Come on—we have to get back to the store!”

  “Elliot!” Drew called after him, but he didn’t stop. “Whatever you’ve got planned, it’s not happening!”

  He said it again a few more times as they hurried through the Pearl to the store, and Elliot ignored each one.

  “Silver,” Elliot repeated, rushing inside Intrinsic Value, making the bells tinkle madly and Aldric start. “Ah. Aldric.” He needed the coast clear. “Would you mind going to the minimarket for…milk? Drew drinks tea with milk, you see.”

  “Of course.” Aldric blinked in confusion but nodded. “Jonas will be back any second, so I’ll go then, when he gets here.”

  Elliot hadn’t factored that in. “No, now is better. Oh, Jonas. Good afternoon.”

  The latest jingle of bells was the second employee coming in. It struck Elliot that both his assistants looked a little alike, with their dark hair and glasses. Drew had dark hair too. Like Karl. Did Elliot have a type? Most people did. He hoped that if Drew saw any resemblance, he wouldn’t think that Elliot…had been intimate with his employees, like he was with Drew.

  For the first time, he wondered if the way he’d fallen into bed with Drew—and bent over and kneeled down for him—made Drew think that was the kind of lifestyle he led in general. Maybe it was something they should talk about…if Elliot could bring himself to.

  “Jonas, you remember Drew. Jonas, why not accompany Aldric to the market across the square? There’s no need to hurry back. It’s a lovely day…” Elliot was still babbling when he waved them off, both men looking puzzled, and locked the door behind them.

  “And that wasn’t at all suspicious,” Drew commented. He said nothing more as he watched Elliot adjust the shop window blinds to make it harder to see into the back of the store, then followed him not to his office, but to the small room next to it. “Another safe? If I thought about it, I’d assume you had one on the premises. And we’re in here because…?”

  “We’re having a silver sale.” Elliot pulled out a wooden chest, lifted a couple of smaller boxes from inside it and opened them. One fatter box contained a teapot, a taller box a coffee jug and smaller boxes held a cream jug and sugar bowl.

  “I’d almost forgotten about this!” he exclaimed, delving into another chest and unearthing a big silver rectangle with handles and compartments. “It’s a smoking compendium. Both these pieces are George Vth, as is that complete set of silver flatware over there.”

  “Elliot.” Drew’s stern voice stopped him. “You saying what period these items date from is making me wonder—were these your grandparents’?”

  He nodded. “There’s another trader, Dottie, with a shop, Antique Treasures, out in Boerne. This is the kind of thing she specializes in, and she’s been after the tea service since I showed it to her. I’ll call her and tell her she can finally buy it, if she does so today.”

  “Elliot, no. It’s very kind of you, but you haven’t thought this through.” When Elliot’s face set in stubborn lines, Drew folded his arms. “I hope you’re only doing this so I’ll take it out on your hide later, because you can’t really think I’d let you go through with getting rid of things that mean a lot? I’m stepping outside to make some phone calls about another way to handle this, so don’t do anything until I get back in.” He raised a warning finger.

  He doesn’t understand. But then, how could Elliot expect him to when he barely did himself? Selling these old pieces was right. Elliot preferred books about art or the history of art to psychology, but he’d started reading widely in that area over the last couple of years, trying to understand himself, his psyche and his sexuality. He’d looked into several schools of thought, from mainstream psychology to more fringe beliefs.

  In the course of his research, he’d come across theories that suggested holding on to things from the past blocked a person from moving forward, because storage was stagnation. What a person had stored was a dormant energy block, holding the energy from that past period of one’s life. What did Elliot stash? Items like these he vaguely recalled being in his grandparents’ house, but his memories of his grandparents shouldn’t lie in their possessions. He liked to think Gramps and Gran would want him to be happy, to be true to himself, and he was trying.

  Of course, he’d started by understanding what made him tick then joining Caress, a club that provided an outlet for those into the Dom–sub sex he craved. He’d even found a pro-Dom there to give the sort of experiences he required for release, even if it was behind closed doors, and in a more controlled, transactional environment. And now…

  Now he’d gone from acknowledging his needs to himself to admitting them to a sexual partner and meeting them with him, for God’s sake! For most people, that was nothing, but for Elliot it was the equivalent of streaking through Times Square. Okay, so Drew didn’t know the whole picture, but…